


Unsuited for/ The Rage of War

by valantha



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Episode: s01e17 Turn Turn Turn, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May is sick, but tries to power through it. Coulson - no Phil - makes her rest. To her chagrin, she needs it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsuited for/ The Rage of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xyber116](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xyber116).



> For my friend an beta xyber116, get better fast!
> 
> Some brief allusions to [The G.R.O.C.E.R.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1886844)

May snorted back a blob of mucus, grimacing slightly at the sensation and taste of it rolling down her throat.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, focused on the bit of weather up ahead.

May navigated the Bus through the storm before setting the autopilot and going to her bunk for a bit of meditation. Meditation always helped her when she felt a bit poorly. Mind over matter and all that.

She settled into Full Lotus and regulated her breathing.

She was startled awake – unaware she had even started drifting – by Phil’s, Coulson’s gentle nudge. Concern filled his blue-grey eyes the exact color of the Harrisburg PA, sky before it began drizzling.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, “Why are you interrupting my mediation.”

He gave her an amused glance, his eyes pointing out her sprawled form, sleep-dulled eyes, and most tellingly, the dribble of drool smeared on her cheek.

May scrambled upright and wiped the drool from her cheek. It wasn’t her fault she was so congested she had to breathe through her mouth.

Coulson let her lie stand unprotested – verbally that is – and only said, “We’re approaching Resupply Station Lambda and you’re needed at the yoke, unless you’re sick, and then I’m sure Ward could land us just fine.”

May rolled her eyes at the idea that she’d let Ward fly her Bus for any reason less than she was bleeding out. She might trust him to help her take care of her body, but the Bus needed a more refined touch.

“Like I told you, I’m fine. I’ll be there in 90 seconds.”

Phil nodded reluctantly, leaving the door to her bunk open.

May sprang to her feet, lacking much of her usual grace. She even swayed a bit as her head swam at the abrupt movement. She blinked rapidly to clear the gunk and stars from her eyes as she walked with most of her usual determination to the communal washroom.

She entered her cockpit a mere two minutes later all signs of her unexpected nap washed from her face, and unceremoniously kicked Ward out of her seat.

She gently guided the Bus down onto the small airstrip next to the resupply station, no need to use the Bus’ VTOL capabilities at this particular station.

She went through the post-landing and pre-refueling checklists by rote, pausing only once to wipe the sweat from her brow. _It was a perfectly normal landing and resupply, why was she sweating?_ May shook it off.

The resupply station crew fueled the Bus and she lowered the cargo ramp, sparing only a moment to be grateful that Simmons had taken over the filling out the resupply purchase orders, the food was better than MREs and no one complained to _her_ if something was missing.

The resupply took somewhat longer than expected – Coulson had to argue with the Station Commander that yes, they really did want two 16oz bags of Quinoa, so Coulson made the executive decision to spend the night at the station.

May refused to believe her health had any weight in the matter until the next morning.

May woke dreadfully late – having overslept her 4:30 wake-up by more than three hours – if you can truly count the sniffling, wheezing, coughing, rolling, aching half-rest as ‘sleep’.

She blew her nose a few times trying to get at least one sinus clear enough to breathe out of but only succeeding at plugging one ear. She moaned softly. _Today was gonna suck._

Ten minutes later May strode out of her bunk head held high, acting normal for all she was worth.

When she reached the galley, she was confronted by a sea of concerned faces.

“Are you okay?”

“You look unwell.”

“You just woke up?”

“Did you touch any alien artifacts recently?”

The children babbled over one another, the last comment having clearly come from a concerned Simmons.

She shook her head – which was unwise as it only made her dizzy – “I’m fine.”

Jemma abandoned her tea and toast to perform a rapid – and unwanted – check-up, “You’re burning up May! At least 38°.”

This set off another round of babbling.

“Guys? Agents!” Phil stemmed the tide, “Don’t you all have someplace else to be?”

“But May’s clearly sick AC!” Skye – the youngest – dared to retort

“I can see that, but she’d not going to be able to rest with you three jibber-jabbering all over her, now is she?”

The children sulked off, Jemma glancing back with concern.

“Coulson, I’m fine,” May argued.

“No you’re not, you’re going to return to your bunk and rest until your fever breaks – on it’s own – and you can actually breathe out of your nose.”

He turned her and practically frog-marched her to her bunk. She could have fought, but he was right, she did have a bit of a cold, and if she acceded right now, she could sneak out later.

Coulson stayed by the door until she climbed back in bed and returned a few minutes later with a mug of rosehip tea.

May rolled her eyes at his mother-henning and grimaced at the cloyingly sweet brew.

“Too much honey?” he asked blandly.

She bared her teeth – he _knew_ she only liked the barest touch of sweetness, unless it was black tea, or horrors of horrors coffee.

She gulped the foul brew down, unwilling to admit to Phil that the honey and warmth did sooth her poor throat.

He took the empty mug from her willing hands and returned fifteen minutes later as she was just about certain he had retreated to his office.

He had another mug of rosehip tea – far less sweet this time – and toast with Phil’s (and hers) favorite apricot jam.

Externally, May rolled her eyes at his solicitude; internally, she marveled at how he remembered that apricot jam was her favorite.

Awkwardly, Phil remained until she finished off the two pieces of toast. As he whisked away the empty plate he asked if she wanted anything else, any meds, a StarkPad?

She shook her head and made a show of settling in for a nap.

“Good, rest up Melinda.”

This time she planned on waiting thirty minutes before making her escape, but her full and warm belly, and utter exhaustion, meant she fell asleep yet again.

She awoke to the clear evidence Phil had checked up on her during her nap; there was a barely-cold glass of orange juice on her bedside table. She must have slept quite a while. She cursed her body and then drank the juice. Three self-flagellating gulps later the two large mugs of tea she had had earlier made themselves known. She waddled gracelessly – her body all torqued by the odd sleeping positions she’d fallen asleep in, needing to remain breathing – to the washroom.

Her most urgent needs having been attended to, when she left the washroom she noticed another – she was hungry, and her hunger was being whetted by the smell of chicken broth.

She made her way to the galley yet again. This time she was greeted by the steam-brightened face of Phil.

“You’re up early. The soup won’t be ready for another half-hour or so, but I could make you something else if you’re starving.”

May rolled her eyes at the utter Phil-ness of that statement.

“It’s just a cold Phil, I don’t need to be babied.”

“I’m taking care of you, when I know you won’t, not babying you!”

May sighed, having already used up her eye-rolling quota of the day.

“I think I hear the kids coming up the stairs, why don’t you return to your bunk, I’ll bring the soup by when it’s done.”

May knew when discretion was the better part of valor, and retreated with most of her dignity still intact.

As promised, Coulson came by with a bowl of chicken and wild rice soup. May couldn’t really taste it – curse of the cold – but it was warm and soothing, and she knew it would taste good. Chicken and wild rice soup was one of Phil’s ‘good basic’ recipes.

To May’s chagrin, she fell asleep without finishing the whole bowl, but Phil had a re-heated bowl and another mug of rosehip tea waiting for her when she exited the bathroom.

This time she was able to finish her food without falling asleep, and even accepted Phil’s offer of a StarkPad.

She debated between Toy Story and Mulan before settling on the Disney classic.

She was well into the movie, belting out “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” when she noticed that Phil was standing in her doorway staring at her in awe. He had a forgotten mug in one hand and the dopiest grin on his face.

May rolled her eyes, having forgotten she’d already used up her quota, “Get over here you goof.”

Phil reddened slightly, but obeyed.

May scooted over and took the mug from his hands. He followed her implicit instructions and joined her on the narrow bed.

“We both have to sing, or it’s not fair,” she cautioned, un-pausing the film.

He nodded in agreement.

By the time Fa Mulan’s sex had been revealed, May had fallen asleep again. That was okay, Phil didn’t mind.


End file.
